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Riding the Canadian

Train travel is like taking a (slow) trip back in time

Karen Griffin onboard the Canadian train for the journey from Vancouver to Toronto.

Photograph by: Submitted by
, Karen Griffin

“I’ve always wanted to do that!”

This was the standard response from anyone who learned I was riding Via Rail’s Canadian from Vancouver to Toronto this summer.

It had also been on my to-do list for many years. Worried that Via Rail’s iconic train trip could possibly go the way of Canada Post home delivery, I decided it was now or never (even though an illustration of the train graces the backs of the slippery new $10 bills, securing its legacy for a few more years, at least).

Also, considering my past couple of experiences flying back to see family in Ontario, I figured that at a trip length of four nights and three days it might actually be faster than flying (lol).

Upon boarding the first evening, passengers were greeted with canapés and champagne after finding their way to cabins. Mine, a single roomette, was equipped with a small sink and a very comfortable bed with a surprisingly fluffy duvet that pulled down over the loveseat for sleeping, covering the in-suite lavatory.

A huge picture window ran parallel to the bed, and I would spend many hours in coming days lying on said bed, watching my beloved country fly by. That first night I fell blissfully asleep, gently rocking side to side, as Via Rail’s mighty Canadian slipped its hefty bulk out of Vancouver.

The Canadian ran 20 cars with a total length of 589 metres, when it was fully loaded with the beautiful glassed-in Panorama car. That made it just over a shaky half-kilometre walk end-to-end.

The train would run at a top speed of 100 kilometres per hour — except when it didn’t. And it didn’t. A lot.

Because CN owns the tracks and has the right-of-way, Via trains must pull over to the sidings and wait for freight trains to pass, which surely contributed to our nine-hour delay in arriving in Toronto. This led one good-natured Aussie to rename our venerated train The Glacial. However, all this stoppage seemed to work in my sleeping-car neighbour’s favour.

Jane, an affable Swede riding the rails on her own (she had taken a train all the way from Austin, Texas, to connect with the Canadian), explained that she would count the cars of the passing freight trains to fall asleep in the evening, but she could never make to the end. I suggested it was the train equivalent of counting sheep: big, loud, smelly, graffiti-covered sheep.

The doors of the cabins only locked from the inside, and during the day there was a thick curtain that zipped shut in front of your door, thereby adding a layer of security to your basically unsecured roomette. During the day, a sleeping-car attendant would neatly pack the Murphy-style bed back up and turn it back into a tiny sitting room. I found myself pulling the bed back down more often than not at mid-day, to more easily facilitate my favourite lounging position — horizontal. Honestly, because I was literally so full from eating at any given point (see below), it just made more sense to lie down. It was also because I could.

Finding your way back to your cabin could be tricky at times. Not only did they all look alike, but there were around 10 different cars filled with these exact accommodations. On the second day, still finding my “train legs” and stupidly having not taken note of my train car number before leaving it, one cheeky sleeping-car attendant caught me tentatively zipping up the curtain on a roomette that was not mine.

“Hey,” he said, “I haven’t seen you around these parts.” I sheepishly explained I was getting the lay of the land, so to speak, trying to find my room and I was afraid I would end up in someone else’s cabin. “It happens,” he winked.

The meals? Utterly amazing. To compare them to anything you might find in a high-end restaurant does them a disservice. Not only were they delicious, one must note that they were also created in a tiny, itsy-bitsy kitchen that is constantly moving; back and forth, up and down. At times, it must be like making meals shipboard in a storm on The Biggest Catch.

A former lawyer from California I was seated with almost did that one breakfast, inexplicably finding room for an order of banana pecan pancakes after magically making his chef’s omelette disappear in the blink of an eye.

It’s worth mentioning that this gentleman was well over 80 years old, and crippled enough that he needed two canes. I would have bowed down to him as a show of respect for his apparent competitive eating abilities, except my own pants would have split at that point.

For those not inclined to lie around indulgently, there were various games and activities on offer. One could grab a traditional board game for some old-school time-passing, or flick through the many complimentary magazines, including Reader’s Digest, which only added to the vintage feel.

Time could also be pleasantly passed in one of three dome cars, offering passengers a view above the trees, and lots of time to visit with fellow travellers.

The fact that there was no Internet connection for more than half the trip was both the best and worst thing. Remember having a long conversation with a complete stranger, or reading something from a device that didn’t need to be charged? Me either, and was actually surprised at how much I enjoyed both.

Lazy days could potentially lead to a rambunctious afternoon in the bar car, which was the last one on the train. This made it very convenient to find. One afternoon it felt like we almost had a UN quorum — everyone was made to stand up, say their name and their country of residence. In that tiny car we had Canada, USA, Norway, England, Japan, Australia and Germany represented by some exceptionally fine and funny people.

Two of these people — Joyce, and her partner Murray from Victoria — were carrying some precious cargo. I had first encountered them boarding in Vancouver, when I offered to take a picture of them. They cheerfully held up a suitcase with a puzzling statement at the time: “Don’t forget the parents!”

Later, Joyce explained that in that suitcase were her folks’ ashes. She was bringing them “home” to Ottawa where they were to be interred in a family plot after both died in B.C. Touchingly, she carried a picture of them both in a locket. Perhaps we could blame the late-afternoon effects of the bar car, but the suggestion that she bring her folks “out for a toast” seemed like a great idea at the time. Fortunately, clearer heads prevailed.

Coming from Vancouver, where the scenery is amazing exactly 110 per cent of the time, it’s hard to comment objectively on the views. We missed a lot of vistas due to delays, which resulted in us sleeping during some of the most awesome bits, including parts of the Rockies. The delays were taken in stride, though.

You can only marvel at how truly huge this country is — huge and remarkable (and filled with many, many trees.)

If you are one of those have always wanted to do this trip, what are you waiting for? Go! Just remember to bring stretchy pants, and maybe one of those book-thingies.

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